strange magic

Little Orphant Annie's come to our house to stay,
An' wash the cups an' saucers up, an' brush the crumbs away,
An' shoo the chickens off the porch, an' dust the hearth, an' sweep,
An' make the fire, an' bake the bread, an' earn her board-an'-keep;
An' all us other childern, when the supper-things is done,
We set around the kitchen fire an' has the mostest fun
A-list'nin' to the witch-tales 'at Annie tells about,
An' the Gobble-uns 'at gits you
Ef you
Don't
Watch
Out!

Wunst they wuz a little boy wouldn't say his prayers,--
An' when he went to bed at night, away up-stairs,
His Mammy heerd him holler, an' his Daddy heerd him bawl,
An' when they turn't the kivvers down, he wuzn't there at all!
An' they seeked him in the rafter-room, an' cubby-hole, an' press,
An' seeked him up the chimbly-flue, an' ever'-wheres, I guess;
But all they ever found wuz thist his pants an' roundabout:--
An' the Gobble-uns 'll git you
Ef you
Don't
Watch
Out!

An' one time a little girl 'ud allus laugh an' grin,
An' make fun of ever' one, an' all her blood-an'-kin;
An' wunst, when they was "company," an' ole folks wuz there,
She mocked 'em an' shocked 'em, an' said she didn't care!
An' thist as she kicked her heels, an' turn't to run an' hide,
They wuz two great big Black Things a-standin' by her side,
An' they snatched her through the ceilin' 'fore she knowed what she's about!
An' the Gobble-uns 'll git you
Ef you
Don't
Watch
Out!

An' little Orphant Annie says, when the blaze is blue,
An' the lamp-wick sputters, an' the wind goes woo-oo!
An' you hear the crickets quit, an' the moon is gray,
An' the lightnin'-bugs in dew is all squenched away,--
You better mind yer parunts, an' yer teachurs fond an' dear,
An' churish them 'at loves you, an' dry the orphant's tear,
An' he'p the pore an' needy ones 'at clusters all about,
Er the Gobble-uns 'll git you
Ef you
Don't
Watch
Out!
--James Whitcomb Riley

We'd always go to MaMa's after church to eat lunch on Sundays. If the weather was nice we'd go out in the backyard and sit underneath the Peter Pan tree in the swing and make clothes with the leaves. If my cousins were across the road at their grandmother's, we'd eventually make our way to Polly's house and play in the gigantic dogwood tree in the front yard while everyone else sat on the driveway and "sunned" their legs. The asphalt got really warm in the late afternoons so it made for a warm seat in the fall.
Some days we'd go inside and sit around the living room. Polly would get out her book and read Little Orphant Annie to us, and even now she's still the only one that can scare you.
Now and then we bring it out on camping trips or trail rides down on the Brickhouse...I like that area because its nothing but pines, its something about the midlands. Its so desolate, empty...theres no sound, no river, creek...just pine trees. It even haunts the horses...so it makes for good Annie tales.
When I got to Lander, my senior year I took Oral Interpretation and our first assignment was a short story or poem. I took a trip back to late Sunday afternoons and rediscovered Riley's poem. Annie got an A.

Is it something about bringing this type of folk lore to life? Its in your blood, you won't be able to escape it...storytelling, ghost hunting, keeping the old photos and asking a million questions about the old days.

I don't like funerals, and I am not fond of visitations, but when Martha died the best part was sitting around her dining room table telling stories of Henry's frontporch haint "Luther" and all the Patterson kids going snipe hunting with their Daddy.

The hills are alive.